


Exception To The Rule

by jumponvaljean (whoatherejavert)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), this is not a fandom it's a serious problem
Genre: (personal headcanon is that Cosette is playing Club Penguin but make up your own mind), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Javert calls everyone 'kid' because he's a BAD-ASS, M/M, Modern AU - Madeleine era, also did I mention Cosette is here because canon has gone all wibbly wobbly, and I guess I might have some Papa!Javert feelings because Jor-El, and Madeleine is the kind of mayoral candidate that make you go 'damn son I'd tick THAT box', but obviously Javert hates his policies so there's cake and scribbles, in which Javert dresses like Russell Crowe and swears a lot, oh and i should say Javert's on holiday and BOY he is not a happy bunny about it, oh and ~symbolic~ ducks man I am a serious writer now, step down Victor Hugo whoatherejavert has got this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoatherejavert/pseuds/jumponvaljean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by cloudland-swing on tumblr: valvert coffee shop au?</p><p>Brain decided: Did you say take liberties because I took those liberties, prompter, I took 'em all. There was, nevertheless, an attempt: heck, there's a coffee shop and they're in it. Gold star for trying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exception To The Rule

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cloudlandswing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudlandswing/gifts).



“Milton!” Javert barks into the phone when the other line finally picks up and he recognises the voice. “Thank Christ—now, go into my office—”

The young officer’s voice sounds unsure. “Inspector? Aren’t you on holiday?”

Javert growls into the phone. Fucking Milton. He’s pretty new to the force, one of the younger ones with a uniform that looks like a kid playing dress-up, but Javert still wants to tell him exactly where he can shove his holidays. He refrains from doing so, if only just.

“Look kid,” he grits out. “Will you just go into my office and—”

He presses a hand over the speaker as someone approaches the door of the café he’s just stepped out of and stands to the side to allow him past. The man nods his thanks and flashes him a polite smile as he enters but Javert’s attention is elsewhere. He continues as soon as the door clicks shut.

“There’s a stack of papers by the printer, should be a map too—”

“Only,” continues Milton doggedly, and Javert can practically hear the kid thinking. “Chief said if you phoned we weren’t allowed…” He trails off and Javert mentally slaps himself. Of _course_ Chief’s put them up to this. He’s silent then, thinking, and Milton attempts to fill the silence. “You know, ‘cause you’re on holiday…”

Javert takes a deep breath.

“Officer,” he says, and it takes a great deal of effort to keep his words steady. “I am your direct superior and I am asking you, no, I am _telling_ you, to _go the fuck into my fucking office and grab the fucking files on that fucking desk and—_ ”

The line goes dead.

Inspector Javert frowns at the phone in surprise; hey, maybe the kid’s got more balls than he thought. Then he looks over at the station across the street. If he squints against the sunlight reflecting off the windows he can see Milton through the glass, still holding the phone. Behind him – Javert screws his eyes and tries to focus – yes, behind him, leaning over the desk is another figure, shorter and wider than Milton’s lanky build. It’s the Chief. _Shit._

Javert ducks back into the coffee shop, pocketing his phone.

“Same again, please,” he mutters to the waitress behind the counter, who smiles and nods and goes to prepare another cup.

He’s on his fifth coffee already. He’s been on holiday for three hours.

Scowling, Javert heads back to his booth only to find it’s already occupied and, to add insult to injury, they’re even sitting in his seat. Well, fuck _that_.

“You’re in my seat,” he says bluntly.

It’s the guy from the door. He looks up in surprise and offers Javert a confused smile. “I’m sorry?”

He’s smartly dressed, maybe a few years older than Javert, with dark hair and a scattering of stubble. His smile looks overused but genuine. There’s something very familiar about him and it knocks Javert for a moment, but he recovers quickly and repeats himself.

“You’re in my seat.” He points at the laptop on the edge of the table, tucked under a folded newspaper. “I was sitting here.”

The stranger looks around the deserted café, drawing attention to the empty tables but Javert just stares him down. It’s not such an unpleasant task if he’s perfectly honest. Despite his drifting thoughts, he still doesn’t return the man’s nonplussed grin.

“I could move?” The guy offers finally, after an awkward pause. “I mean, my daughter’s just coming, it’s just she always chooses this—”

“Yeah.”

Javert isn’t really concerned about what the man thinks, even as he sees him raise his eyebrows. Familiar or not, the guy’s in the way. The booth is perfectly placed for Javert to keep an eye on the station but without being in immediate view should any working officers happen to want a coffee themselves. It’s a fucking strategic gift. If he still kept in touch with his mother or had any fond memories of a happy childhood in her arms he’d still have no second thoughts about throwing _her_ off the chair. Screw tact.

The man holds up his hands in mock defeat and unfolds himself from the cushioned seating. “Yeah, sure, why not,” he mutters as he does so. Javert can’t help but notice the man’s trim build ( _damn_ , he must have either a good tailor or a hard trainer) as they face each other and there’s a part of him – a very specific part of him – that wants to offer to share the damn table.

He fights it. He’s on holiday, for Christ’s sake, he’s not on the pull.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and there’s relief and maybe something like an apology in his voice. The man gives him an odd look before he just shrugs and moves away to another table.

Back to work. Sinking into the cushioned seat, Javert draws his laptop across the table and opens it roughly. The station database flashes up on his screen and he types in his details hurriedly.

ACCESS DENIED.

The message flashes across the screen, letters large and red. For a minute he just stares at it open-mouthed. He closes the browser, loads up the login page and tries again.

ACCESS DENIED.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

He says it out loud without realising and earns himself an expression of amused puzzlement when he feels eyes upon him and looks up into a face that still seems familiar. Javert ignores it, merely leaning back in his seat and glowering at the screen. He barely even looks up when the waitress sets another coffee on the table. Only after a significant number of further unsuccessful attempts at logging in (a few of them using Milton’s details paired with a variety of increasingly ridiculous password guesses) does he shut the laptop and reach for the cup.

He doesn’t _need_ holidays, he thinks as he takes a gulp of the scalding liquid. Crime doesn’t take a week off and neither should he. That’s simple logic. But it’s a logic that the Chief doesn’t seem to share, so Javert sits in the café with his fifth cup of coffee and glowers through the window at the police station.

He suspects it will be a long week.

* * *

When the girl rushes in, red-faced and panting, he finds himself half-hoping she’s running from something.

But no such luck.

“Papa!” she cries happily as she launches herself at the man who has risen, smiling, to greet her. Javert’s attention falls back on the station across the street and he glances at his watch. Nearly twelve. The shift will be changing soon and if he can catch one of the guys before the Chief gets a chance to brief them about him then there’s a chance he’ll get his case files. Surely they won’t…

“Papa?”

Javert isn’t intending to listen, but the child is trying to whisper in the way of children everywhere and the result is, invariably, talking loudly and clearly.

“Papa, what is that man doing in our seats?”

Javert pulls his laptop back towards him and tries to look a little busier; as he does so he can see the man out of the corner of his eye making an attempt to hush the girl.

“But they’re _our_ seats.”

It does not seem to be a particularly successful attempt.

He hears the man murmuring something. The girl argues back, but he can’t hear what she says. The exchange goes on for a few moments and he loses interest.

“Well I’ll _ask_ him, then.”

He barely hears this last sentence, louder than the rest of the conversation, before a small blonde girl seats herself opposite him and attempts to peer around his laptop.

“Hello,” the girl says. Her blue eyes are very wide.

Javert closes his laptop and folds his arms over it. Great. Just what he needs. Holding back a sigh, he raises an eyebrow.

“Is this your favourite table?” The question comes almost immediately. It seems she expects an answer just as quickly because when Javert doesn’t reply within two seconds she continues undeterred, tracing circles on the table top. “Because me and my Papa like this table, too. We sit here every day, you know…” There’s a hint of reproach in the words, but then the girl stops and smiles brightly at him. “But if it’s your favourite – if it’s your _most_ favourite table – then maybe…”

Javert takes his chance as the girl pauses for breath. “Don’t you know not to talk to strangers, kid?” he tries, but the question lacks bite. There’s something about the girl, something deeper than the quick words, bright smiles and wide eyes, that places any genuine irritation out of his reach.

Maybe he’s going soft.

The girl nods seriously. “Uh-huh. But you’re a _policeman_ ,” she asserts as if stating the obvious. Javert frowns, confused, as she wrinkles her nose at his current attire – a t-shirt from work and an old sports hoody – but she passes no comment on the lack of uniform; Javert doesn’t even have time to ask when she’s seen him in the damn uniform before she’s talking again. “You’re allowed to talk to policemen because they’re—”

Finally the man appears at the table in a flurry of apologies.                                         

“Sorry, sorry!” he interrupts his daughter, grinning awkwardly at Javert as he does so. “Kids, you know…”

Javert doesn’t know, not really, but he nods because he’s pretty sure he’s meant to and it’s easier than figuring out a reply. He watches as the man places a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Come on, Cosette, the gentleman is busy—”

“Are you busy?” asks Cosette interestedly. Javert must take too long to reply because, again, Cosette leaps upon the opportunity. Her eyes widen as a thought strikes her. “Is _that_ why you’re in disguise? Because you don’t look too busy, you just look a bit grumpy, really…”

“Cosette!” the man exclaims, half in horror and half in amusement. He turns to apologise to Javert but Javert just waves him off and leans in closer to the girl.

“A bit grumpy?” he asks.

Cosette hesitates before nodding. “Yes,” she says seriously. “But Papa said you were too.”

“ _Cosette!_ ”

Javert raises his eyebrows at that and the man’s face flushes a deep red, not quite meeting Javert’s questioning eyes. Finally he shakes his head as he pulls a wallet out of his pocket and hands some notes to Cosette. “Here, go and choose something nice,” he suggests.

As Cosette skips off, the man turns back to Javert. “Look, I didn’t say you were grumpy,” he defends himself immediately. “I said you were…”

Javert waits.

“Forget it,” the man finishes. “We’ll leave you alone, inspector.”

“Wait,” and if it surprises Javert that he even says it in the first place, it surprises him more that he stands up as he says it. He clears his throat. “How—how does she know – how do _you_ know – I’m a cop?”

“What? Oh.” The man waves a hand vaguely. “We’re in here a lot. My office is just a few streets over.”

That’s it, then. He’s probably glanced at them at some point when picking up a coffee. It’s as good an explanation as any.

“And you work over there, right?” The man continues, and points out the window at the station before looking back to Javert, who nods. “We see you a lot. We like…” His eyes dip slightly, embarrassed, and Javert tries not to acknowledge the flash of heat that runs through him. “I mean, Cosette likes… you know, the uniforms…”

The silence is painfully awkward as they stand not looking at each other.

“She’s, uh, she’s a sweet kid,” Javert offers finally. He’s not sure why he says it. They both look at the girl, then, conversing happily with the waitress at the counter.

“Yeah.” A deep sigh. “She is.”

He doesn’t sound like a proud parent, not exactly. There’s something more in the way he says it that turns Javert’s thoughts back to his own family. He shakes his head and feels a little guilty.

“Look,” he says after a moment. “I was—I guess I was a bit, you know, to you earlier.” Javert is not a man that needs to apologise often and it shows. He goes for the truth. “I was a bit of a dick.”

“Yeah,” the man replies almost immediately. “Yeah, you were.”

There’s a moment of silence and then…

“I’m Jean, by the way. Jean Madeleine.”

The man is smiling and offering his hand. That’s when it clicks.

“Jean Madeleine?” Javert parrots. He doesn’t take the offered hand but instead he reaches back for the newspaper and holds it up. The local election serves as the main headline. “This Jean Madeleine?”

“The very same,” Madeleine smiles, before adding, with an exaggerated swagger, “Can I count on _your_ vote?”

Javert vaguely recalls the line from a half-heard television campaign and smirks. Madeleine is taller than he appears on television and the messy growth of stubble over his jaw certainly doesn’t feature on the voting posters. He shakes his head and points toward the newspaper.

“With those policies on criminal rehabilitation?” Javert crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You can think again.”

“Oh?” Madeleine doesn’t look offended. In fact, there’s nothing but sincere interest in the dark eyes. “Well, I’d welcome your thoughts, Inspector—?”

“Javert.” He holds out his hand and they finally shake.

“Not the legendary Inspector Javert?” Madeleine looks surprised, then oddly amused. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Yeah?” Javert isn’t sure what he’s implying, but Madeline simply smiles wider and spreads his hands.

“Well, if you’ve got the time, I’m all ears.”

Javert’s grin is sharp. “You’re lucky I’m on holiday,” is all he says before he sits back down and impatiently gestures Madeleine to do the same. It's not quite work, but it's close. He picks up a pen and he’s already turning the newspaper page to Madeleine’s manifesto when he hears a small voice.

“Oh, are we sharing, then?”

Cosette appears at Madeleine’s elbow with a plate piled high with iced sponge slices. Madeleine raises his eyebrows before his gaze meets Javert’s.

“I guess we are,” he says.

“Good,” grins Cosette, settling in beside her father and pushing the plate in Javert’s direction. “’cause I got enough for three of us.”

* * *

The newspaper sits on the table between them. Some portions of the text are underlined, some are circled, and some are completely scored through. The edges of the margins are covered in Javert’s hasty scrawl.

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Javert huffs, wiping cake crumbs from the table distractedly. “It’s not a realistic outlook. I mean, here, look at reoffenders’ figures for juveniles…” he finds the numbers he wants and points his pen at them, “You get a kid that gets into the wrong crowd once, twice, and you’ve lost him, because then he’s not a kid, he’s just a criminal.”

He leans across the table, lowering his voice. Cosette doesn’t look up from Javert’s laptop where she’s found something to play online.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times over. Hell, I’ve been loading the same kid-turned-criminal in my squad car for twenty years now. People make their choices and live by them. They don’t change.”

Madeleine shakes his head, but he leans closer too. “I can’t believe that. I just can’t.” He doodles in the corner with his own pen.

“Then don’t believe the sky’s blue,” Javert says with a shrug, but there’s humour in his tone. He watches Madeleine draw a sun in the corner and begin adding rays to it. “Still true.”

“It’s so cynical though,” Madeleine protests. Dropping his pen, he reaches for a slice of cake. There’s icing on his lip when he finishes.

“Doesn’t make it untrue.” Javert can’t look anywhere but the icing.

“But what about exceptions to the rule? Surely you believe in them?”

“I dunno,” Javert admits after a long pause. His eyes are focused on the icing on Madeleine’s lips. “Even so, that still doesn’t merit betting your charity in their favour.” He finally taps at his own lip with his pen. “And you’ve got, um, just there.”

Madeleine’s long fingers dart up to his lip and wipe the icing. “That’s it?”

Javert nods, swallows, and Jean Madeleine licks the icing off his finger and smiles at him.

It’s not the worst holiday he’s ever had.

“I’ve lost where we were,” admits Madeleine after a moment.

Cosette is reaching for the last slice of cake but she looks up. A grin spreads across her face. “I know,” she says happily. “Inspector Javert said you had too much money and not enough sense, and _you_ said Inspector Javert was stubborn and in… incor… incog…”

“Incorrigible?” supplies Javert. He remembers feeling quite pleased by the accusation.

“Uh-huh, that. And then he said you were too trusting to be a mayor, and you laughed and said he should have more cake and now there’s only one piece left and you’re still arguing about boring stuff and...”

She stops and smiles sweetly at the two men. “Can I have the last piece?”

Madeleine's laughter is infectious; even Javert can't hold back a quiet chuckle.

“We’re not arguing,” says Madeleine, when he can speak again.

“It’s not boring,” adds Javert, and it doesn’t even surprise him how genuinely he says it.

Cosette just rolls her eyes at both of them. “Can I have the last piece?” she asks again.

They agree that she can. It’s the first thing they’ve agreed on.

* * *

“I’m not saying you’d be a _bad_ mayor.” Javert leans back into his seat and drums his fingers on the table. “I just… You’re a nice guy, right? From what I hear. But there’s nice, and there’s reality.”

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I’m sure.”

Javert chuckles. “Maybe,” he shrugs.

Madeleine looks over at Cosette, who has returned to the counter to speak to the waitress. His gaze is fond but tinged with sadness. When he speaks his voice is wistful. “But isn’t there something to be said for trying to make reality nicer?”

“Yeah. The word’s ‘impossible’.”

Madeleine looks as if he doesn’t know whether to smile or shake his head. In the end he does both.

“I was right. You really are incorrigible.”

Javert just grins in reply.

“Look what I’ve got!” comes an excited voice. Cosette slides back into the booth next to Madeleine and holds up a burnt loaf triumphantly. “Can we go to the park now?”

She looks to Javert as well as her father.

“You can still argue with my Papa,” she tells him. “I’m sure the ducks won’t mind.”

Madeleine, smiling, lays a hand on the girl’s hair and tilts his head at Javert.

“Well, inspector?”

Glancing at his watch, Javert realises the time. The shift has changed over by now and he thinks of the case files on his desk. He finds himself looking over at the station again, then back to Madeleine’s face.

He hesitates.

“Let me make a phone call,” he mutters instead. Getting to his feet, he doesn’t even notice Cosette’s fallen face. He dials in the station’s number as he walks over to the door and it’s ringing by the time he gets outside.

“Javert.”

It’s the chief. Javert can see him through the window, and he’s pretty sure the chief can see him too. Something compels him to wave.

The chief doesn't wave back, but he hears a sigh through the receiver.

“About earlier, sir,” begins Javert. “When I phoned. Those case files…”

“Yes?” The question is laced with warning.

Javert glances back into the café and sees Cosette leaning over the top of the booth, head resting on her folded arms, watching him.

She smiles.

“… Well, they’ll keep, won’t they?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just hangs up and heads back inside.

* * *

“No, no, look at that one – see him? Watch this.”

“Papa!” Cosette is laughing as Javert, crouching next to her on the grass, throws bread into the water. He crumbles it evenly and methodically, spreading it equally through the water. “Papa, come look!”

“I’m looking,” laughs Madeleine in reply, standing a little way along the bank and tearing apart his own bread and distributing it carelessly. “What is it?”

“A flagrant violation of rights is occurring,” Javert replies, winking at Cosette. He straightens up and adopts a serious expression as he turns to Madeleine. “It is nothing less than a crime of the most atrocious nature.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a duck stealing all the bread!” translates Cosette, giggling and nudging Javert playfully before racing over to her father; she grabs his hand and pulls him over to watch the offending creature. “Look, look, it’s this one!”

Cosette drops some bread into the water and sure enough, the duck gobbles it before any of the others can, snatching it away. Madeleine throws his arm around Cosette and smiles at her.

“Well, maybe he’s just hungry. Maybe he hasn't eaten for a while.” He breaks some of his own bread. “Here, throw some more for him, Cosette.”

“I despair,” Javert scoffs good-naturedly from the other side of Cosette, “At the leading mayoral candidate’s reaction to such unlawful behaviour.”

Madeleine just raises an eyebrow, looking over Cosette’s head. “And your own course of action would be?”

“Punishment, not reward. A crime has been committed and the price must be paid.”

“It’s a duck,” says Madeleine flatly, but his eyes are crinkling in amusement.

“The duck has made its choice,” retorts Javert. It’s difficult to keep a straight face with Madeleine regarding him like he is but somehow he pulls it off.

Cosette pulls on Javert’s sleeve. “So… should I give him some of burnt bread?” she asks.

Javert crouches down to her level and regards her gravely. He nods slowly. “I think so.”

“And then,” Cosette continues, equally earnest, “if he is well-behaved then he can have some of the nicer bread we bought?”

Madeleine rolls his eyes as Javert, grinning, congratulates the girl on her astute attitude to the ramifications of the law. Javert notices the gesture and stands back up.

“I’m guessing she doesn’t get that shrewd reasoning from you?”

Cosette saunters along the bank, crumbling the bread in her hand before sprinkling it into the water, turning back every so often to grin.

“Hmm?” Madeleine is watching the ducks again.

“She’s smart,” Javert nods towards the girl. “Knows her own mind.”

There’s a sad sort of smile on Madeleine’s face when he turns to Javert. “She’s why I’m running in the election,” he admits. “It’s for her.” He glances over to Cosette before he meets Javert’s gaze again. “Did you really believe what you said, inspector?”

The odd question makes Javert frown. “Sorry?”

“Earlier, in the café, when you said a nicer reality was impossible. Did you mean it?”

There’s something like a plea in the tone and it catches Javert off guard. This isn’t what he signed up for, he thinks. Somehow it's gone past policies and hit something deeper. He digs his hands into his pockets and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Look, Madeleine—”

“Jean,” corrects the man immediately.

“Right, yeah, Jean.” He pauses and his eyes fall on Cosette, happily feeding the ducks. Whatever reply he might normally make in such a circumstance seems to sit heavy on his tongue. Javert looks back at Madeleine.

“She’s a good kid,” he says eventually, not quite meeting the man’s gaze. “Nothing’s impossible, I guess.”

Madeleine smiles. Javert’s lip quirks in reply. He can’t exactly help it.

* * *

“You know, that manifesto is still a work in progress,” Madeleine says conversationally as they walk together. Cosette has a singing lesson she needs to be taken to so Javert is returning to the café and Madeleine has insisted on accompanying him there.

“Glad to hear it.”

Madeleine merely laughs. “There’s always room for improvement.” He watches Cosette skipping ahead of them before glancing at the man at his side. “Like you said, inspector – I’m lucky you’re on holiday.”

Javert looks up. “Yeah?” he challenges, slightly.

“My office is just a few streets over. I'd be glad of your insight." He checks himself, then adds, "I mean, if you don’t have any further plans to spend the rest of your week sulking in cafés, of course.”

Madeleine’s grinning at him. Javert throws him a withering look.

“I guess I could cancel," he shrugs.

It's entirely possible that Javert is beginning to enjoy his holiday.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first author note so hold on to your hats.
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this because on the one hand I want to make it a WIP because honestly the Madeleine/Valjean reveal has delicious potential and also the idea of Javert having a hand in Madeleine's rise to power intrigues me and, y'know, let's be real here, there'd be butt-touchin' and that's a pro because /butt-touchin'/ guys.
> 
> On the other hand I have a terrible track record with other fandom WIP and also when I read this over I kind of screw up my face and make hissy noises in places and I just don't know. Thoughts welcome?


End file.
